The Hungry 4: Rise of the Triad (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) (4 page)

MALIBU, CALIFORNIA

As their vehicle slowly climbed the long, winding driveway, Miller looked up at the sign on the front of the enormous building. It read
Malibu Serenity Center.
The place was huge; a three-story hotel that someone had converted into a luxury rehab. Five metal pink flamingos posed high over a wide wading pool. A few live peacocks wandered freely about the grounds, feeding on the lush grass and fanning their feathers, perhaps hoping to score a quick piece of bird. Some women were meditating on a terrace.

“This don’t look like a military base,” said Scratch, speaking for the first time since Santa Monica. His presence made Miller feel a little bit better, but only a little. The soldiers had known her name, and acted like someone had been expecting her. Miller didn’t like that part of it one damn bit.

“You can say that twice.”

Scratch shrugged and grinned. “Seriously? Okay, will do. This don’t look like a military base.” He nudged her.

Miller smiled despite herself. She looked at Scratch. “You know what? I’d say it looks like a rehab. I’ve seen them in magazines. Like one of them luxury hotels for high-end drug addicts.”

“Yeah,” Scratch whispered, “and cut-rate B movie celebrities looking for a free pass for having been an asshole in public. So why did they bring us here?”

“Beats the hell out of me,” Miller said. “I guess we just play along.”

Beyond the main part of the building, through an immense open passage, Miller could see a private beach. In the clear distance, way down below at the Santa Monica Pier, the big Ferris wheel spun slowly, like something out of a daydream. The sun baked the ground. The Serenity Center building was a soft yellow color, oddly reminding Miller of a golden retriever. Eastern religious symbols and carefully placed flowers gave the place the feel of an expensive spa, or perhaps a new-age church. It was on the edge of silly, perhaps, but also rather nice—though the handcuffs that dug into Miller’s wrists made it clear that the soldiers hadn’t brought her all the way up here just for a mani-pedi.

“Scratch?” Miller shifted in her seat. “Do me a favor and don’t piss anyone off until we know what’s what.”

Scratch looked at her sideways. “I know the drill, Penny. Observe, evaluate, plan,
then
act.” He huffed and puffed. “I have been paying attention to your lessons the last few months, you know. I just wish you had thought of that yourself before you decided to go all
Annie Oakley
back there on Third Street.”

Miller frowned without looking directly at him. “Just don’t volunteer any information. We don’t know what they already know.”

The government vehicles came to a stop before the main entrance. Their National Guard escorts came to the passenger door of the black SUV. They opened it for Miller and Scratch to exit.

“Ma’am, sir. Would you please follow me,” said the staff sergeant.

Miller hadn’t bothered memorizing his name. He was just another uniform. She had a feeling they’d be seeing a lot of them in the near future. She swung her long legs out of the big vehicle and stepped down to the ground. Scratch slid out and stood right behind her. The sunshine was warm and welcome and Miller could hear the soothing sound of waves stroking the sand. Sea birds cawed in the distance. It wasn’t half bad if you let go of reality. You could almost have believed there wasn’t a zombie war going on out there.

The sergeant turned smartly. He led the way towards the high glass entrance of the Serenity Center. Their boots scrunched down on pebbles and tiny twigs a light wind had blown in from the garden. They reached the sidewalk, which sloped up from the drive. While Miller observed carefully, an olive-skinned woman in pink flowered medical scrubs came out of the glass front doors. She had vaguely Latina features, a pleasant face with hazel eyes, and black hair pulled back into a regulation bun. There was a soft, welcoming smile on her face, but stood at what could only be interpreted as “at ease.” A lifer. Her posture gave her away as clearly as if she’d worn fatigues and a pair of dog tags.

As they approached, the woman came to a taller stance, now more like attention. Miller noted that the smile never left her face.

“Hello, Penelope. Hello, James.” She held the door for them. “Welcome to the Serenity Center. We hope you will be comfortable here.”

Scratch shot eyeball daggers at the woman, whose small nametag identified her as Christina. Scratch had just suffered through a long stretch of being called Jimmy back in Colorado, where things had turned to shit. The given name also belonged to Scratch’s estranged son, whose whereabouts were currently unknown. So although Miller knew that he would most likely hold it together in the face of being called James, there was a chance he’d slip a gear and say something rude. Something they might later regret. Scratch had been known to pop off to someone in a position of power—hell, they both had—but that kind of behavior wouldn’t do them one damn bit of good today. Not handcuffed and under guard. So Miller found a way to cover for him.

“Nice to meet you, Christina,” Miller said. “Nice little place you got here.”

Scratch looked down at his boots.

Christina looked surprised, but covered well. “We think so.”

The soldiers melted into the background. Miller studied the place. The lobby of the Serenity Center was beautifully appointed and the perfect environment for a herd of ultra-rich drug patients. Miller saw more than a few plush armchairs and couches. Some vaguely eastern music with chanting whispered through hidden speakers. Air fresheners were everywhere. There was a discreet water fountain burbling in the lobby. Everyone was freshly scrubbed and neatly trimmed. Scratch stuck out like bird shit in beet salad. He was way too scruffy and distinctly, arrogantly male. Not to mention, Miller thought, that they both probably reeked like a bag of used jock straps.

Miller, for her part, was doing her best to pay attention to every minute detail of her surroundings. She wanted to memorize exactly where they were and how they could get out when the time came. This Christina person fascinated her. Here was a woman who clearly had a military background, but looked like she should be working in a neonatal unit at a county hospital, not as a guard at a high-end prison. Something was way out of whack, and the odd situation was making Miller even more concerned than usual. These folks also already knew who Miller and Scratch were, so whatever chance they had of blending in while looking for an escape hatch was shot to hell.

The nurse moved back and gestured politely. The pleasant smile never left her face. “We need to get you checked in. Sergeant, if you would do the honors?”

The sergeant stepped in front of Miller and Scratch. He unlocked their handcuffs. Christina ushered them both inside the lobby near the huge front desk, and much to Miller’s surprise, the sergeant didn’t accompany them any further. They would be alone for at least a bit. Miller thought about making a break for it, but with no money, weapons, or motorcycle and no knowledge of the terrain, she and Scratch wouldn’t make it very far. Her eye took in a half dozen well-disguised security cameras. Christina did not carry a side arm. She clearly didn’t feel the need. Okay, they could knock her out easily enough and might even make it outside. Perhaps even get into hiding. But Miller had no intention of dying of starvation and exposure in one of the long canyons opposite the beach. There was too much she didn’t know. What the hell was going on around here? No, she would wait and evaluate before making any decisions on what to do next.

The Serenity Center had real marble floors next to plush carpeting. Garish gold plating adorned the light switches and wall plugs, and colorful antique paintings and marble statues graced the halls. High ceilings and skylights completed the upscale image and made the place feel airy and open. Large plate windows showed the ocean to the south. Though somehow way over the top, the place was also, in a word, beautiful.

Scratch muttered, “Shit fire, I feel like the brand new whore at a Vegas pussy parlor.”

If Christina heard that comment, she didn’t let on. Their footsteps echoed down the empty halls. Christina led them to a desk that with a sign that read
Admissions/Concierge
. The woman behind the desk was blonde and even perkier-looking, but carried herself with the same vaguely military demeanor. She had the trim torso of someone accustomed to lifting weights.

“Welcome.” Her nametag read Rachel. “We hope your stay at the Malibu Serenity Center will be a pleasant one. You’re both already checked in.” Miller looked at Scratch in surprise. They really had called ahead—whoever
they
were. Rachel continued, “Ramon will take you to your suite. You will find lunch waiting for you there.” Rachel nodded to a pleasant looking, well-built man in blue scrubs. He came at attention next to the desk. Miller thought his shirt looked sprayed on. He also had him some serious biceps. These folks ate their damn protein.

“Sheriff Miller?”

“Um… Yes?”

Rachel finished her spiel with, “Your orientation will be at five o’clock. Ramon will be your escort.”

“Wait a second,” said Scratch, “how about you start now by telling us what the hell going on?”

“Everything will be explained at orientation, sir.”

“Are we under arrest?” Miller said, absently.

“No, of course not,” Rachel said. She offered up a wide, condescending, TV preacher kind of smile. Miller pictured a shark cleaning its teeth with a finger bone. “Participation in our wellness program is always
completely
voluntary.”

“Then screw this.” Miller turned on a dime and headed for the door. “Come on, Scratch. Let’s get the fuck out of Dodge.”

“Hold on a second, Penny,” Scratch said. He stayed put, surprising her. Miller paused with one boot in the air. She felt and probably looked cartoon foolish. Scratch turned to Rachel, but Miller could see that he was also watching Ramon carefully at the same time. He could sense the tension in the air and seemed to want to defuse some of it. “What was that you said about lunch?”

“Your meal is already waiting for you in your suite,” Rachel said. Again with the smile only this time it was warm and got a lot brighter. In response, Scratch puffed up like a song bird. Miller realized Nurse Bitch was flirting with Scratch.

“And if we don’t like the place,” he said, “we can just leave whenever we like?”

“Of course.”

Scratch turned back to Miller. She set her boot down on the marble floor. It landed with a squeak. “Penny, you know I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, but given a choice here, I’d vote we at least grab some lunch—and maybe a shower—before we blow this joint. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Miller stared back, willing him to understand her concerns. Scratch seemed to be saying something back, but Miller wasn’t at all sure they were on the same wavelength.

“Come on, Penny. They just said we can go whenever we like. Do you see any armed guards, any security towers? Hell, any cameras even? Maybe this is on the up and up.”

“I saw some cameras,” Miller said, weakly, “all over the grounds and here in the lobby.” But she knew cameras were everywhere these days, if only to catch criminals in action. Scratch walked closer to Miller. He looked down kindly. He put his hands on Miller’s shoulders. “We’ve lost our ride. Where the hell are we going to go? They took the handcuffs off. These people don’t mean us any harm that I can see. I’m hungry and tired, sweet thing. It’s safe enough here.”

Miller’s face darkened. She whispered. “It’s not safe anywhere, Scratch. You know that.”

“We both know that. Just lunch. Please. We haven’t had a good meal since Lake Havisu, and I’m so damn hungry I could eat the ass cheeks off a road-kill raccoon.”

Miller looked up at him. She was surprised by his willingness to be tamed this easily. “Don’t you know you should never eat in the underworld? Not if you ever expect to leave again?”

“Oh, come on, Penny, stop showing off. Besides, does this look like an underworld to you?”

Miller looked around her. The place was indeed beautiful, but so was the penthouse at the Excelsior hotel in Las Vegas. And that was the spot where they’d been cooped up for a month after the first days of the zombie apocalypse. Terrill Lee had been alive, and Sheppard had been with them. They’d thought the worst was over until the Army had asked them to go back into the jaws of Hell together. Then things had gone from bad to worse, fast as shit through a goose. Now Terrill Lee was gone, Sheppard was missing, and all that seemed so very, very far away.
Is Scratch making sense?
Am I just being paranoid?

Miller wavered. It would be good to have a bath and some food, maybe even sleep on a real bed, even if only to nap for an hour or two. Still, something about the calculated polish of their surroundings made her very uncomfortable. But as she thought about it, everything made Miller uncomfortable these days. The patient nurses had not moved to stop her from leaving just now. They seemed like they were just waiting for her to decide what to do. Damn it, maybe Scratch was right this once. They could at least just grab a bite of lunch and seize a chance to freshen up. What could that hurt?

Miller sighed and sagged. Her knees weakened but Scratch supported her easily. She was suddenly very tired. Her stomach growled, loudly enough to get noticed, despite a fervent hope that it wouldn’t. Damn it, she was starving too.

“Okay, Scratch. We stay to clean up and have a meal.”

Scratch put his arm around her. “Good girl.”

“Follow me, please.” Ramon stepped forward. At least he had the good grace to keep his face blank. One more satisfied grin and Miller would have kicked the man square in the door knocker.

Scratch and Miller followed meekly. Their walk led them through the lobby to another long, open corridor. They saw tall, lightly tinted windows on either side of them. Dry mountains dotted with green brush and deep blue sea water surrounded the premises. Miller felt herself relaxing, involuntarily responding to the place. A small voice in her head reminded her that the lodge in Colorado had once seemed like a refuge too, but within days it had been overrun by zombies and burned to the ground. And that reminded her once again of having to shoot her ex-husband. Miller shook her head imperceptibly. Her eyes moistened. Once again, she pictured Terrill Lee standing in the smoke and flame with empty zombie eyes, just waiting for the bullet that would free him at last. The image flat out cracked her heart open.
I’m a wreck,
Miller thought.
Why wouldn’t I be after all that has happened? God knows we both need a break…